


In His Own Image

by Diablerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings in the End Notes, Daddy Kink, Father-Husband, Incest, Just the Tip, Light Somnophilia, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Possessive Behavior, References to Christianity, mentions of consensual somnophilia, sweet on the surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablerie/pseuds/Diablerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t get over the wonder that they <em>made</em> him. That Stiles is perfect—their love given form. Stiles is perfect and precious and all John’s; it’s overwhelming. And yes, it hurts, but in a good way. Like stretching a sore muscle or pulling free a scab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Own Image

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fidelius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidelius/gifts), [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts), [cannibalinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalinc/gifts), [BonesOfBirdWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesOfBirdWings/gifts).



> This is my first (official) Stilinskicest fic. I feel like this wouldn't exist without Morallydubious posting so many wonderful fics about them. It's like a constant reminder how much I love them together. Thank you, Morallydubious. Whoever you are. You are doing god's work.
> 
> To my dear friends who all encourage so much incest. You're terrible for my normal productivity. I should be writing other things. Things like my Steter works in progress. But I'm so far down the Stilinskicest rabbit hole again. It's a wonderful place, but it gives me a lot of gross feelings. I love/hate it.
> 
> My new Stilinskicest theme song is ["Jesus Christ"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjPyvoLXPs4) by Brand New. I listened to this song for eight hours while I wrote this and cried about my difficulties with sex scenes.

When they sleep in John’s bed, it would be so easy to think of it as John in his place and Stiles in Claudia’s. They have the same hair and smile and laugh. Stiles even has an identical spread of moles on his inner thigh—a dark constellation, stark on pale, tender flesh. Of course, John knows about it. The first time they fuck isn’t the first time he’s seen his son naked. Still, it’s a punch to the gut every time he traces the marks with work-rough fingers or worships them with his tongue, every time John spreads his son out on the bed he shared with Stiles’ mother. 

He can’t get over the wonder that they _made_ him. That Stiles is perfect—their love given form. Stiles is perfect and precious and all John’s; it’s overwhelming. And yes, it hurts, but in a good way. Like stretching a sore muscle or pulling free a scab. 

If John thought that he might be able to make Stiles understand, then he’d tell him. There are a lot of nights that he has to stop himself from explaining in clumsy, halting words, his tongue leaden with whiskey and his heart full of love. He loves them both so much. Still. Always. 

Yet Stiles hovers in an uneasy time-share with her ghost—halfway convinced that he’s a poor replacement for his mother. John will gladly go the rest of his life never saying her name if it will make Stiles believe that he’s the only choice. The only one John will ever want, because loving Stiles is inescapable, like breathing. Like loving himself and Claudia and everything good in the world. Because that’s what Stiles is to him. Even though he doesn’t understand yet. He will in time. John has no intention of allowing Stiles to slip away. He won’t give Stiles a reason to seek out comfort from another source. 

Since beginning the sexual aspect of their relationship, John has spent countless nights lying awake and watching Stiles sleep the way he used to when Stiles was little. When he was so tiny and helpless. The context is different now that Stiles is mostly grown. 

When John looks at Stiles, he finds within himself a new ability to reconcile conflicting thoughts. He traces cuts and bruises with gentle hands and thinks _my son is safe_. He presses kisses to a lush, pink mouth just like Claudia’s and fucks his throat on a slim dick curved like his own and thinks _my love, my darling, my pretty baby_.

Like now, John has Stiles cradled against his chest, head resting in the dip of his shoulder as his lips hover scant centimeters above the sleeping boy’s. Hot, humid air gusts against John’s face as his avid eyes take in his son. He’s eager to memorize every detail. From the dark fan of Stiles’ lashes resting on curved cheeks to the scent of their shared soap and cologne. John revels in the smooth, muscled body under his hands, pliant and bending to his whims. Finally, he drops his head to meet Stiles’, brushing chaste kisses across parted lips. There’s no rush to wake him, not when the last week has been so hectic, but the soft pressure gives way to slow, drugging kisses. John delves deeper, coaxing Stiles’ tongue into his mouth, sucking on the last traces of tingling mint like a child with a sweet. 

Stiles wakes up by degrees. Already warm and pliant, he melts even further into the embrace. “Daddy,” he moans huskily. Stiles tips his face up and withdraws his tongue, inviting John to follow. So John goes, marking his way with greedy swipes, conquering that small space as his own while Stiles whimpers and arches his back. 

They’re both in the habit of sleeping naked when they have the chance, so each twist and arch of spine presses silky, youthful flesh against his own weathered skin. Stiles’ body is so attuned to him that he’s completely hard and leaking, has been since they started kissing. The boy whines whenever the head of his cock bumps into John’s thighs, matting the hair with smears of pre-cum. So he turns them—blankets Stiles and rocks his heavy cock in the prominent jut of the boy’s hip. His grip on Stiles’ wrists is light. He doesn’t rest his full weight on him. Does nothing to restrain Stiles’ movement or keep him from breaking free. John embraces his role as a comfort, a shield, a bulwark. He will always protect his son.

John sucks kisses down the long line of Stiles’ throat. He pays special attention to the frantic flutter of the pulse racing beneath fragile, blue-veined skin. They have to be so careful. No matter how he wants it, he can’t afford to sully Stiles with bruises that show the world all the places he’s been. “Sorry for waking you, baby. But you’re too gorgeous for this old man to resist.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I like waking up this way,” he croaks, voice rough from sleep. “‘s good.” He grinds his hips in filthy suggestion, his erection leaving sticky trails on John’s stomach. “C’mon Daddy,” Stiles coaxes. One side of his mouth quirks up in a slow smile. “Don’t you wanna play with me?”

His son will be devastating when he’s older. John’s already helpless against him. He groans and fits his mouth to Stiles’ smile. He has to taste it, sips at Stiles’ happiness like the smoothest of whiskeys. It heats him up, burning all the way down to settle in his gut. It feels like he’s swallowed the sun.

John releases one of Stiles’ wrists to reach down and probe the empty place between his son’s legs. The hungry spot that’s always waiting for him. “I do. I always do, honey.” 

He sinks in one finger without pause. Goes slow and steady until he’s knuckle-deep. Stiles is wet, still a little loose from when John fucked him before they fell asleep. But Stiles is a teenager. Insatiable. Arousal is a never-ending thing, constantly simmering in his veins, driving him to satisfy his urges. John has to be the one to show Stiles patience. He’s the one who puts on the brakes, stretches Stiles out nice and easy no matter how many times Stiles protests or begs. John doesn’t care how many times they’ve done this. He doesn’t care that he’s the only one who’s been inside Stiles, that he’s carved out a space that fits only him. He refuses to take advantage of this gift. It’s a privilege to experience Stiles’ surrender. The way Stiles softens that tight hole for John, let it bloom open for his fingers, his tongue, his cock—whatever his father wants to give him.

“There you go,” John whispers in Stiles’ ear as he presses in another finger. Scissors them and waits for the answering gasp. “That’s my boy,” he mutters soothingly. “You take it so well. So proud of you, baby.” 

As Stiles relaxes further, John picks up the pace, groping through the sheets for the discarded lube. He finds it shoved under the pillows and quickly flips open the lid to drizzle more directly onto his thrusting fingers. “We just need to get you wet again.” Stiles whines at the cool shock of fresh slick on his heated skin. “Shhh, baby. We’re almost there. Daddy’s got you.”

John slips in a third finger and crooks them. Just rubs with firm, insistent pressure right against Stiles’ prostate.

“God! Fuck. _Daddy_.” Stiles lets out a strangled shout. His splayed legs tremble violently. On a particularly hard stroke, his foot jerks and almost kicks John.

“Careful, honey. Easy now.” John gentles him through it, but only lightens his caresses when Stiles’ cock jumps and spurts pre-cum in warning. “See. Your little hole knows who owns it. _Who made it._ You’re always so ready for me. I could fuck you all day, every day and you’d still beg for more.” He pulls out slippery fingers and slicks them over his aching cock. Fits his cock to Stiles’ puffy rim and slides in the head. “Christ,” he gasps. “You always fit just right around me. You really were made for this. For me. My baby boy.”

“Uh-huh.” Mindless with pleasure, Stiles would agree to anything right now. He babbles, “You and Mom. You made me for this. To take care of my daddy and keep you warm.” Stiles tries and fails to buck up and take the rest of John. He grunts. “Dad. Daddy, _please_. Wanna make you feel good.” 

Stiles arches helplessly, straining in John’s effortless hold. But one big hand grips his bony hip, keeping him pinned to the bed as the other plucks at a sensitive nipple. John circles his hips easily, enjoying the tight clench around his cock head as Stiles’ body clamps down on him in the attempt to suck him deeper. 

“What if this is all I give you? Would you come this way if I wanted?” He rocks forward suddenly but withdraws just as fast. Pulls out and presses in with excruciating slowness until the head pops through. “Yes or no, baby?”

Stiles hiccups out a shaky yes, so John smiles. Rewards his boy with praise and repeats the motion. It’s not often that he has the opportunity to draw things out. To work Stiles into a frenzy. Make him beg for his daddy’s cock until he cries from the overwhelming pleasure. Usually, John doesn’t have the heart to break him down like this, would much rather worship him and give in to Stiles every whim, but he doesn’t like the way certain people have been sniffing around. Standing so close and comfortable with Stiles. Offering him rides. Bringing him coffee and books and presents when the asshole has his own kid to take care of. He doesn’t need to steal Stiles. Stiles is John’s baby boy and just _his_. It’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets some deadbeat seduce his kid away. And before John knows it he’s burying himself to the hilt as the boy yanks at his own hair with tiny, broken gasps.

John rolls his hips. Drags himself out. He catches Stiles’ hands where they’re tangled and snaps, “No, honey. No hurting yourself.”

“But–but I need it,” Stiles whimpers. He’s pink halfway down his chest, mouth slack and bitten-red, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He looks thoroughly wrecked, and John’s the only one who gets to see it. The only one who ever will. He’ll kill anyone who tries.

“Daddy. _Please_.” He tugs one hand free to twine his long fingers in John’s hair. Stiles casts sightless eyes up at him. Lost without John’s guidance. Imploring. Like John is a blasphemous mix of father, lover, and creator-god. “Need you. I love you. Forever.”

“Aww, fuck,” he groans and drives himself into Stiles. “Yeah, baby. I love you, too. Forever.” John loosens the hold on his restraint. Just a bit. Enough to let him hammer into Stiles’ prostate until his baby is crying and screaming curses and prayers. Babbling in tongues. John loses himself in his son, barely has the presence of mind to wrap his still-slick hand around Stiles’ pretty dick—so similar to his own—and jack him until Stiles yells. Hot cum spurts over his hand, and Stiles goes limp under John’s thrusts, letting his father batter his over-sensitive prostate without a hint of complaint. Tears trickle down Stiles’ face as he lets out moans interspersed with soft, hitching breaths. The kind he makes when he’s so blissed out that every sensation verges on pain.

“Are you close, Daddy?” Stiles must be exhausted, but he clenches down hard, milking John’s cock like a good boy. Puts his whole body into getting his daddy off. It won’t be much longer at this rate. Stiles is perfect, amazing. Designed to rouse every protective instinct John has, as well as the primal urge to paint him inside and out with cum. Sometimes John isn’t sure which he wants more. Does he want to teach Stiles and help him grow? Or would he rather keep him full of cock and too fucked out to move from John’s bed?

For a few seconds, John imagines a life where he could have that. He pictures his pretty boy, the perfect combination of mother and father, naked and bound to the bed. Dependent on John to fulfill his every need and want. And that’s all it takes. John’s hips stutter, and he spills deep in his son, adding to the earlier mess of lube and cum. On weak limbs, John rolls them both to their sides so he won’t crush Stiles. Poor thing’s almost asleep again. 

Stiles twists as much he can without letting John slip out, fumbling for his hand. “Stay in me, Daddy,” he mumbles. “I like being close. Like waking up with you inside me.”

John wraps long arms around his son, cradles him with all the tenderness in his heart. “Okay, baby. I’ll hold you. I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Extra notes/warnings:**
> 
> I tagged it, so one should be shocked by all the gay incest. I marked it as underage since I've set this in a vague time around 3A/3B.
> 
> John thinks a lot about Claudia. He thinks a lot about how he's part of Stiles and the conflict between his paternal and sexual feelings for his son. I had to debate tagging for dysfunctional relationship, but I decided against it since it would make people expect a different kind of dynamic.
> 
> During sex, John has a brief fantasy about having Stiles as what amounts to a sex slave.
> 
> Many thanks to [Bones](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesofbirdwings) for the editing.


End file.
